Demitria Lunetta - In the End

Jacks laughs at that, deep and unexpected. “It used to happen a lot. People would come into my tattoo shop with letters in a different language, and I always tried to talk them out of it but . . .” He pauses, lost in thought. “Layla wanted a butterfly tattoo. She was that kind of girl. Until we got here.” He goes back to working on his sketch.

There seems to be more noise than usual coming from outside, so I walk to the window and look out. The Yard looks deserted.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Just the fights,” Jacks says. “I’m not interested in watching.”

A voice booms across the cell, making me jump. “Well, you’d better get interested real quick.” I turn to find the Warden staring at us, his presence making my skin crawl.

“What do you want?” Jacks asks, his voice cold.

The Warden stares him down. “I’ve got all of Fort Black at the fights. How do you think it will look if you and your girl aren’t there?”

Jacks takes a deep breath. “I’ve seen enough blood. . . .”

“It ain’t about the blood,” the Warden says loudly, talking over him. “It’s about the release. It’s about people getting a little entertainment.”

“It’s about you keeping them distracted so they don’t see how shitty their lives are,” Jacks shoots back.

The Warden just chuckles. “A little. Come on now. I need you there.”

Jacks looks to me, and the Warden whistles. “Sorry, didn’t know you needed permission from the missus.”

Jacks stands and comes to me. “Amy,” he whispers, “do you mind coming? It’s easier just to do what he wants.”

I look at him. He’s torn between standing up to his uncle and keeping the long-standing peace between them. There’s something else in his expression: shame. He doesn’t want me to think he’s a coward.

“I’ll go with you,” I say, then add, “if that’s what you want.”

Jacks nods, and we follow the Warden down the stairs and out to the Yard, turning right past Cellblock A to reach the Arena.

The fights haven’t started yet, but nearly all the seats in both sets of bleachers are filled with cheering fans. I see Dwayne up at the top with a few seats next to him and wave to him. “Here, let’s sit in the back,” I tell Jacks, pointing to the empty seats. “Unless you have to be up front?”

“No, the back is fine.” We climb the bleachers to the top row.

“Hey, Amy.” Dwayne grins at us. “Jacks, you’re lucky to have a girl like this.”

“I know.” Jacks smiles back half-heartedly, and I grimace. I’m not in the mood to watch people fight. But I take advantage of the crowds and feverishly scan for anyone who could be Ken.

“Want some?” Dwayne offers me a flask. “It’s not anything like that vodka you gave me, just some nasty toilet hooch, but it gets the job done.”

“Um . . . no, thanks.” I shake my head.

“Suit yourself,” he tells me with a shrug, and takes a long sip.

The crowd has spilled down around the fighters’ circle. Jacks explains that only the fighters are allowed in the red circle, and usually the crowd is pretty good about giving them space.

The Warden appears in the middle of the circle and raises his arms to quiet the crowd, whose shouts turn to hushed whispers remarkably fast.

“Fort Black!” the Warden yells. “It’s been a long two weeks since the last fight, but what a show! Kid Gorilla is still recuperating, and y’all know Pretty Parker ain’t so pretty anymore!” The crowd goes wild, and the Warden takes off his hat and waves it in the air. He lets them scream a bit before raising his arms again. “Are y’all ready?” The crowd goes crazy again, and I give Jacks a glance. He gives me an apologetic look and grabs my hand. For a moment I wish I weren’t wearing my synth-suit so I could truly feel his hand in mine.

“I hate this shit,” Jacks whispers. “My uncle keeps everyone happy with blood and fear. They don’t even care. All they want is a little relief from their crappy lives.”

The Warden’s voice carries across the Arena. “All right, let’s get the first two fighters: Georgie and Young Dan . . . you’re up!”

Two large men with shaved heads appear from the crowd. I remember that when we helped Brenna, the man I was fighting automatically tried to grab a handful of my hair. Brenna’s shaved head makes sense now. She wouldn’t want to give away any advantage.

Both men showboat for a while, trying to work up the crowd. One flexes, while the other shouts obscenities at his opponent. The Warden takes out his gun and fires a shot into the air. The men rush each other immediately.

At first it looks like they’re boxing without gloves, dancing around each other, trading jabs and punches. Then one of the men backs up and kicks the other’s legs. The man doesn’t fall, but he stumbles into the wall of the crowd, which pushes him back into the center of the circle only to be kicked again. He goes down and cowers into the fetal position. The man still standing kicks him a few more times until the man on the ground shouts, “Forfeit!” The crowd erupts in cheers.

“Is it over?” I ask.

“Yeah. Someone has to give up or be knocked unconscious.”

The winner leaves the circle, pushing his way through the crowd, while someone helps the loser to his feet. Two more fighters emerge from the crowd and take their places in the red circle.

“Look, it’s Brenna,” I say. I’m excited, despite myself. She also has on baggy shorts, along with a sports bra. She jumps up and down, punching the air. She looks tough, a real threat. Her spinal column tattoo only heightens the effect, running from her neck down her back and disappearing into her shorts. It makes her look like a total badass.

“Want to make a bet?” Jacks asks, who seems to have perked up.

“Bet against Brenna? You’re crazy.” I look over at Dwayne. “He knows better.”

“That’s right. I learned my lesson last time.” Dwayne’s eyes are glued on the Arena.

The Warden again stands in the circle. “And now we have a crowd favorite . . . Beautiful Brenna!” Half the crowd cheers while the other half boos, but Brenna puts her pointer finger in the air to show she’s number one. “And Beautiful Brenna will be fighting . . . Charlie Boy Brandt!” The man she’s fighting is taller than her by a good six inches, but Brenna is at least as muscular.

After a few more minutes of riling up the crowd, the Warden shoots his gun and backs away. At first the fighters circle around the ring. Brenna goes in for the first punch and is knocked down. I stand, concerned, but she gets up quickly, bouncing back into a boxing stance.

I sit and look at Jacks. “She’ll be fine,” he assures me.

Brenna moves in again, this time more carefully. The man has a longer wingspan and hits her twice in the face. I hold my breath, but when the man, cocky now, steps in for another blow, Brenna drops low and drives a punch into his crotch. He folds over and she springs up, connecting her knee with his face. He crumples to the ground.

“Anything goes,” I whisper, shaking my head as Brenna raises her arms in victory.

“I love that girl!” Dwayne jumps up to cheer for Brenna.

I stand up to cheer for her too, amazed at how desensitized to violence I’ve become. Maybe because the fights in the Arena are very much like the fights I had to participate in during Guardian training. I see Brenna make her way through the crowd, pausing at the girl with red hair for just a moment before moving on.

“Let’s go down to congratulate—” I begin to say, until I see who has just stepped into the circle.

Tank places a hand on one side of his head and cracks his neck, then repeats it on the other side.